


Dear Merimyn

by Ellenar_Ride



Series: Bloodline!Verse [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls I: Arena, Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Bloodline!verse, Domestic, Epistolary, Gen, Letter fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-05 05:04:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellenar_Ride/pseuds/Ellenar_Ride
Summary: When little Merimyn falls ill and cannot be woken, her devastated family writes her letters.





	1. Fomeri

Dear Merimyn,

Hello, sweetheart. How are you doing now? Your mother appeared on my doorstep a few nights ago in a panic, saying you had fallen ill and she could not wake you. The poor dear was so distraught, I could not calm her. <strike>I believe she may have forgotten what it is like to be vulnerable, to be mortal.</strike>

Did you know your mother only got sick twice while she was still mortal? She was an astonishingly healthy child. But when she did fall ill, it was a terrifying ordeal - more chilling than any horror I witnessed in my travels. I believe she may have passed this trait on to you.

The first time your mother fell ill, she was only a little girl - just fourteen years old. She hadn’t even started her schooling yet. I was such a wreck. I was only seventy-four myself, a young mother, and my only baby girl was dying. I was so angry - at the world, at Ambrus, even at my mother. This last was my greatest sin: one day, almost two weeks into your mother’s sickness, I screamed at your great-grandmother and blamed her for the whole ordeal. I told her it was _her _fault my baby was sick, because four of her own children had not even lived to be born. Though I hurt her terribly, she forgave me years ago. I have never quite managed to forgive myself.

I thought I was going to have to bury my baby girl, the light of my world I had only been allowed to love for a decade and a half. I was so scared and so angry I felt as though my heart was bursting at the seams. I thought I would shatter into countless millions of minuscule shards.

<strike>Your mother blamed me this morning. I wonder if this is how my mother felt when I blamed her? It’s alright, though. I don’t mind. I can take it. Your mother can’t right now; her mind isn’t built for mortal grief anymore. If being angry with me helps her cope, then I can handle feeling like she’s ripped my heart out and stomped on it.</strike>

The second time your mother got sick, it was _very _different. She was seventy-two, and I didn’t even know she was sick until a month after she had recovered. She was in Cloud Ruler Temple with your Uncle Martin, and extreme exposure to the elements rendered her feverish and unconscious for six days. <strike>When I stop and think about the fact that my baby girl was so close to death and _I didn’t even know,_ my blood runs cold.</strike>

In the time since your mother and uncle’s ascensions, I have managed to speak with your Uncle Martin a few times. It can be a trying endeavor to gain his full attention - or at least enough of it to hold a proper conversation - but I have found him to be a delightful conversationalist when I succeed. On one of these occasions <strike>(only one, as neither of us could bare to touch the subject any longer)</strike> I asked him about his experience when your mother was ill. The subject seemed to distress him almost as much as it did me. He told me once that she was his only true friend - it would have pained him terribly to lose her.

But I have spoken enough of grim and depressing portents, my dear. It is quiet here, and your mother is asleep, and I find more and more of my mind’s contents spilling into this letter that I did intend. I believe I ought to put down my pen, soon, before I write any more miserable thoughts into being. Before I go, though, my sweet granddaughter, remember that I love you, and wake up soon.

With love,

Your grandmother,

Fomeri Keth


	2. Ambrus

Dear Merimyn,

I came to see you today, Tidbit. Actually, I am sitting beside you now, as I write this. It might seem a bit odd, but I felt it necessary - to sit beside you, holding your tiny hand, lends a weight to my words that I could not sustain elsewhere. <strike>It hurts to see you so still, a hollow, gaping wound gnawing on my heart. You are life and light and energy, and I have never seen you so quiet.</strike>

Merimyn, what happened to you? Did you truly fall ill, such a simple mundane malady? Nothing more? Ah, forgive this old man, please, dearheart - I regret to inform you that I have grown quite paranoid in my advancing age. <strike>I do not believe my silly mortal mind was built for such longevity.</strike>

I know your grandmother wrote to you yesterday, Little Bit. Did she tell you how miserable your mother is? It sounds such a cruel thing to say to a little girl, but <strike>it’s not as if you can hear it</strike> it is such an important truth. Merimyn, your mother loves you. She loves you so much that she does not know how to function without you. She is terrified to lose you, moreso as a result of the way she lost your father and your Uncle Martin. <strike>She will fall apart if you do not wake up.</strike>

Do you know how privileged you are, Tidbit? You have the absolute love and unshakable devotion of a god. A mortal-born mad god, but a god nonetheless. And even beyond her, you own the hearts of Nirn’s greatest heroes, not to mention the Divines.

Dear Merimyn, your warm light has touched even the hearts of Daedra. I have seen Molag Bal turn from prey for your sake, Sanguine set aside his drink and send away his worshippers, Hermaeus Mora put pause to his thirst for knowledge. I have seen Meridia turn her back to the undead to come to your side, Azura grow gardens in your footprints, Noctural ever tip the balance in your favor. Malacath does not teach just any child to wield a blade, nor Hircine the art of the hunt.

Mephala whispers secrets in your ears as gifts, Mehrunes Dagon marks you _protected _so his cult will never harm you like they did your uncle. Clavicus Vile bargains for your smile, Vaermina devours your nightmares and leaves you only pleasant dreams, Boethiah sits you by their side to bear witness to their tournaments and sets their followers to fight for the honor of guarding you. Namira keeps a watchful eye on you at all times, and even Jyggalag adores you as much as a logic-driven mind is capable of.

It is Peryite who spends the most time by your side these days, monitoring your health, and while he cannot and will not interfere directly he buys your life with hints to your mother, to me, to whoever your carer may be.

You are loved, dear Merimyn. You are so dearly, desperately loved, and there remain so many of us who wait inconsolably for the day when you will wake once more.

With love,

Your grandfather,

Ambrus Merciel Keth


End file.
